


Treaty

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, M/M, PWP, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 17:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17005677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: The Lucian delegation’s visiting Prince Prompto’s empire.





	Treaty

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It irks him to be left out of the later talks, but maybe it’s a blessing in disguise; Prompto’s not sure how much longer he could’ve gotten without leaping across the table to devour the pretty omega they set before him. He’d been breathless the minute the Lucian party arrived. He knew of Noctis Lucis Caelum, of course. He’s seen pictures, here and there, even exchanged a few words in passing—albeit clipped, political ones. But he never thought they’d ever actually sit down together, and he always tried not to let his thoughts dwell too long on that handsome prince.

When it happened, he tried not to breathe in too much, because that gorgeous omega smelled _delicious._ He tried not to soak in how composed and _cool_ the other prince seemed, somehow as demure as any omega, yet rugged as any warrior. He tried not to notice that they seemed to have the same difficulty with their fathers, the same taste in irrelevant media, and the same sense of humour in small, offhanded jokes. He failed miserably. Is still failing. All he can think about is _Noctis_ , which is saying something, because Prompto’s had whole litters of omegas thrown at his feet and never once been taken with any of them. 

Then a pretty foreigner sits down at his table, and suddenly he’s all animal instinct: he wanted to toss all their careful paperwork aside and claim Noctis right over the countertop, growling to his entire tribe that this new treasure was _his_.

Prompto shuts his eyes and shudders, trying to force it down. It isn’t easy being an alpha. He’s heard plenty of omegas say otherwise, often lower-born, servants or members of his father’s harem, complaining of heats and an inherent sense of vulnerability. Prompto still figures that’d be easier than the primitive desire to claim and mark territory. 

A few steadying breaths, and he manages to calm down enough to open his eyes and actually _read_ the scroll before him. He has a lot to look through. Not to do with the peace treaty—they’re discussing that now. The _kings_ are, anyway: the real powerhouses. The princes, lords, and ladies were sent away. Prompto still has plenty of other work to do, all of which feel petty in comparison, dealing with the inner workings of his empire. He can’t help but wonder if his father sent him back to his office, rather than the private chamber where negotiations are now being held, because it was obvious how wet he was getting. He isn’t normally like that. He can control himself. He doesn’t normally picture new omegas naked and fantasize about their pretty cocks, and how much he’d like to fondle and play with them and clamp down around—

A knock on the door snaps his head up. He’s flustered but still barks, “Come in.” He knows he probably won’t _stop_ being flustered until the Lucians have ridden off into the distance.

The chancellor sticks his head in. There’s a greasy grin across his lips, which isn’t anything unusual, but still makes Prompto’s skin crawl. The chancellor always looks at him like his entire mind’s been read. And is being laughed at.

“There’s a gift for you,” Izunia drawls, then pauses, as though to savour Prompto’s confusion. “Courtesy of King Regis. I took the liberty of having it sent to your quarters.”

Prompto squeezes out a tight, “Thanks,” and doesn’t ask what it is. If Izunia’s involved in anyway way, it’s nothing sane. He absently wonders if his father’s sent anything to Prince Noctis. Probably not. There’s a distinct possibility that Prompto’s gift is an omega, as visiting nobles so like to pass around, something unfitting for Noctis: no one would gift one omega to another. And alphas make poor gifts. Although, Prompto’s sure that if they knew what omega they’d be getting with, quite a few would volunteer.

Surprisingly, Izunia doesn’t linger, just disappears the way he came. Prompto waits another minute or two to regain control. Then he rises, abandoning his work, and leaves his office. 

He takes the long way up to his quarters, deliberately avoiding the common routes where his raging pheromones might scare any omega servants. His situation’s little better by the time he reaches his room. He feels like he can still _smell_ Noctis somewhere in the tower, staying in guest quarters, innocent to what effect he has over people. There are two alpha guards waiting outside Prompto’s quarters that he ignores—he doubts he’ll need them. The peace talks seemed to be going well. Then he’s inside, looking curiously around the entryway, the sitting room, the dining area—

He reaches his bedroom and becomes speechless.

Noctis is sitting on his bed.

Perched on folded legs, hands splayed over his knees, Noctis is as naked as any omega being added to a harem. The only stitch of clothing is a stretch of black lace tied around his throat in a buoyant bow, something like a makeshift collar. Prompto can only stare.

Noctis looks even better naked. He’s _perfect_. About Prompto’s size, trim and fit, with slightly darker skin and broader-set but less muscular shoulders, he’s a vision. The pink cock nestled between his thighs is every bit as tantalizing as Prompto pictured. And it’s not entirely flaccid. Prompto’s glad they didn’t tie a bow around it, so he can see every last millimeter of it. He takes a few subconscious steps closer, drawn to a closer look. His knees hit the mattress, and he stops. 

Eyes still on Noctis’ lap, even though Noctis has a lovely face, Prompto mutters, “What’s going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Prince Noctis drawls, more like a lazy royal than an omega on display. “We’re bonding our empires. ...With something a little more permanent than parchment.”

Prompto can’t believe it. His gaze slowly trails up to Noctis’. Dropping the prim posture, Noctis spreads his hands over the rich blankets and slouches back. He tells Prompto with impressive ease, “To be honest, my father wanted to bind me to Luna instead. And I threw a fit. Don’t get me wrong, I like Luna... as a pen-pal. Maybe even a big sister. But the thought of bedding her? No thanks...”

Prompto nods numbly. He remembers something about that; Lunafreya mentioning her friendship with the ‘enemy prince.’ She’d asked once if he wanted to write anything in her secret journal—strike something up with Noctis—but Prompto hadn’t wanted to intrude. He doesn’t have the sheer charm, so casual and confident, than Noctis is oozing. Noctis dons a little grin that makes Prompto’s insides rumble with _want_.

“Fortunately, your Empire seems to have multiple ‘lords’... nice of you all to let your subjects of different cities retain their titles... I did suggest Ravus, albeit begrudgingly, but dad was so set on merging the bloodlines... and then you up and tell us all over dinner you can bear children. Weird tidbit to throw out on a first meeting, by the way.”

Prompto can feel his cheeks heating. He hadn’t meant to. But he’s never been ashamed of who he is, and bizarrely, it came up. His father and Regis had voraciously tried to one-up one another in their respective society’s technology, with medical advancements at the top of the list... his father proudly mentioned their advancements in magitek and biological alterations, and Prompto had stopped it there to insist they still gave citizens personal choice. And they were socially conscious too. His father embraced Prompto’s choice and had forced neither social constructs nor physical alterations on him. The hidden barcode on his wrist, denoting how close that force had come before Prompto finally broke through, wasn’t something he mentioned. Their guests didn’t need to know the depth of their true turmoil right away.

If Noctis is to stay, he’ll soon find out. He’ll get Prompto’s jacket off at some point. But Prompto has a hard time worrying about that, about anything, when he’s faced with a very naked Noctis Lucis Caelum in his bed. 

When Prompto doesn’t say anything, Noctis prompts for him, “So... you can carry, then?”

“Yeah,” Prompto mumbles. It’s a thought he’s never been particularly into, but if it earns him Noctis... “I mean, I take some pills, and... but, like, I should be able to...” He feels like he’s babbling and shuts up. 

“Then I can give you an heir,” Noctis fills in. Prompto hopes he means _someday_ and not immediately. Because Prompto just wants to enjoy _Noctis_ at the moment, and not have to even think about kids. Maybe Noctis is thinking that too, because his grin quirks, and he adds, “I’m told I’m quite fertile... at least, when I’m in heat. Which is coming up soon, by the way... I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to spend this one alone...”

That’s a proposition if Prompto ever heard one. He blurts, “This has to be a dream.”

Noctis stretches forward. He slips into all fours with feline grace, crawling closer, stopping at the edge of the bed. Looking up at Prompto with blue eyes so much clearer than Prompto’s, he asks with enviable composure, “Do you want me?”

Prompto’s never wanted anything more in his life. He still asks, “Do _you_ want me?”

Noctis shrugs. It’s weirdly informal for how princely he comes off. “Well... you don’t seem the type who’ll bite a too-big bruise into my neck, slap a collar on it, and try to turn me into some submissive plaything... and Gladio says you’re a strong fighter. Ignis says you seem clever enough. He said I’d probably think you were ‘fun.’ I _want_ fun. I want _hot_. I want someone who can wrap me up and fuck me senseless during heat, then be my best friend every day in between. ...And I think I like the idea of a warm cunt rather than a hard knot...”

He reaches out, a hand landing on Prompto’s belt. Prompto’s shaking. Not with nerves anymore, but the force of holding himself back. He has no idea who the people Noctis mentioned were, but he’s glad they apparently approve of him. Noctis asks him, “Can you do all that?” 

“I don’t subjugate omegas that don’t want to be,” Prompto answers. It becomes harder to talk when Noctis leans forward and kisses his stomach, leaving a slightly damp patch on his white shirt. With great effort, Prompto continues, “I’m okay with a gun. ...I don’t know about clever, and my dad would probably say more ‘annoying’ than fun...”

Noctis presses another kiss in, this time under Prompto’s belt, right over his crotch. Noctis visibly inhales, burrowing his face into Prompto’s pants, and he can probably smell that Prompto’s soaking wet. It’s borderline disgusting, how much he’s dribbling through his boxers. Voice husky, he admits, “I _do_ want to bite a bruise into you...”

“Good,” Noctis muses, nuzzling his nose between Prompto’s legs. “...Just don’t expect to show me off tomorrow like some captured prize.” His eyes dart up, and Prompto could swear they’re almost _red_ , like he’s burning with just as much lust as Prompto and his body can’t contain it. “Remember I’m a prince too. And that’s saying something—I don’t usually throw that title around.”

Prompto doesn’t either. He puts a hand on Noctis’ shoulder and gently pushes Noctis back. Noctis takes the hint, moving backwards, giving room for Prompto to hike up onto the bed. He stalks forward until he’s cornered Noctis against the headboard, promising, “Got it. We’re equals.”

Noctis smiles as he leans back, lying down amongst the pillows. Prompto bears over him, practically mounting him, held up on hands and knees and wanting to close the distance. He needs to get his clothes off—his skin’s searing through them. He all but rasps, “Do I have to wait for your heat to fuck you?”

They probably should. That’s how an alpha’s _supposed_ to break in a new omega—wait until they want it most, and make the first time _spectacular._ But Prompto gets the feeling they won’t need the pheromone haze to make fireworks, and he’s starting to think Noctis is as unruly as him. 

Noctis answers by lifting up to press their lips chastely together, while his hands deftly unfasten Prompto’s belt. Prompto kisses back far harder, flattening Noctis down into the pillows, marveling in how scrumptious Noctis tastes, how soft his lips are, how wet his mouth is. Prompto’s fingers practically claw the bow off Noctis, ripping it away, and it comes off easily, quickly discarded. Noctis pulls the belt out a few seconds later. Prompto can’t stop kissing him. Prompto doesn’t want to. Noctis pops open the buttons of his pants one by one, then starts to tug them down, and Prompto lets it happen: lets his new omega undress him. The rest of his clothes stay on—the fancy dress suit the servants laid out for him, just for the occasion. He loves that all the crisp black fabric Noctis came in is already completely gone. 

Noctis gets Prompto’s pants and boxers both shuffled all the way down his hips, and the rush of cool air against his burning body is what finally breaks the cycle of nonstop making out. Prompto gives Noctis one last, fierce kiss, then wrenches up, moving back to sit atop Noctis’ warm thighs. Prompto needs that moment just to take it in—to commit the sight to memory. He wishes he had his camera. He’s got a lot of shots he’s proud of, but this would best them all. He doesn’t want to waste the time and energy fetching it and staging a proper shoot—not yet. But he hopes Noctis stays with him for a long, long time, and he’ll get plenty of pictures later.

At the moment, he memorizes through taste and texture. He savours the lingering hint of Noctis on his tongue, and he spreads his fingers wide across Noctis’ chest, running smoothly down Noctis’ handsome frame. He pays particular care to the thick shaft rising out of black curls, now rod-straight and rock-hard. The tip even has a little bead of white on it, which Prompto presses his thumb against—Noctis groans and tries to arch up. Prompto’s weight is pinning him down. Prompto doesn’t have the words, but he’s sure the approval is all over his face. Noctis’ eyes are becoming clouded, more black than blue, and his gaze drops from Prompto’s, trailing down to Prompto’s crotch. He licks his pink lips and mutters, “I wanna taste you...”

“Later,” Prompto promises. His voice is a broken mess. He darts down for another kiss, but pulls back again even as Noctis chases his mouth. Noctis has such perfect lips, and Prompto can’t wait to fuck them. One hand circles Noctis’ stiff cock, and he growls, “First, I want _this_.”

Noctis groans and bucks up into him. The cocky surety is gone, replaced instead by the same obvious need that Prompto feels. He still takes his time to stroke Noctis a few times, dry and light, just toying with it, tracing each little vein and playing with the foreskin. His channel’s dying for it; he can feel his own mess leaking down his thighs, gathering in his drawn-down boxers. If he does keep Noctis long, the servants are going to hate him—his sheets will need changing every night. It’ll be worth it.

When he can’t take it anymore, he lifts up and over Noctis’ crotch, hovering there on shaking knees, holding Noctis in position, not _quite_ touching. He asks, even though he knows the answer, “Ready?”

Noctis looks straight into his eyes and orders, “ _Fuck me._ ”

Prompto obeys. He lowers just enough to feel the head of Noctis’ cock nudging at his lips, rubs it once over his slit, then shoves himself down and _roars_. He lets his weight drop completely—takes Noctis right up into himself, and it goes without any pain—that’s how much Prompto’s been flexing and dripping since he first caught sight of Noctis. Noctis’ omega cries are blanketed by Prompto’s alpha howl. But it’s clear Noctis loves it too—Prompto can _feel_ how much he does. Noctis’ fingers claw at the blanket below, digging in and scrunching up, tense and white-knuckled. His whole body goes taut, hips clearly trying to strain up into Prompto, trying to burrow deeper inside, but Prompto’s already swallowed up as much as he can take. He devours Noctis entirely, then grinds himself in place, dragging through the scratch of Noctis’ pubic hair and spread thighs. It’s wondrous.

For that first few moments, that’s all they are—Prompto dragging his hips in little circles, keeping Noctis fully trapped, and Noctis powerless to do anything but whimper at the sensation and try to buck deeper inside. He looks so _desperate_ for it, for more, for _Prompto_ , and that’s an amazing feeling: that Prompto could drive such a gorgeous omega so crazy. Then his own instincts mount, and he needs _more_ too. He rubs his hands over Noctis’ chest, feeling Noctis’ nipples pebbling under his palms, and slowly lifts himself up. Noctis whines as his cock slips out of Prompto’s channel, but Prompto doesn’t let it go completely. When he’s only got the tip left, he slams back down, sudden but intense—Noctis wails in pleasure and writhes happily beneath him. 

Prompto’s never been more turned on. It turns his head to mush, but his body knows what to do, and it moves on its own—he starts fucking Noctis hard and fast, bouncing up and down in Noctis’ lap, and clenches around Noctis’ cock as he goes. He rocks and shifts to feel different angles, squeezes tight and lets it drag along his walls, rubs it everywhere. He thinks of adding Noctis hands and mouth to the mix—of training Noctis to please him right, and telling him what to do in return, so every part of them can work towards complete pleasure. Noctis doesn’t look like he has the wherewithal for it yet, but they’ll get there. They’ll fuck so many times that it’ll become second nature. Prompto wants to ride Noctis’ cute cock every day and night. 

“You smell amazing,” Noctis murmurs, voice strained, then cut off for a long moan as Prompto clenches particularly tight. Prompto feels the same about Noctis. The stench of them is cloying, thick in the air, emphasized with the wet squelching and slapping sounds of skin-on-skin. Prompto knows his bedroom will still reek of sex for hours afterwards, and that’s just fine by him. He watches Noctis’ hands migrate from the sheets to his knees, up his thighs, finally to his hips, ducking under his shirt, and that new point of contact seems to take the last of Noctis’ coherency away. He becomes a mess of eager mewls that wreak havoc on Prompto’s hormones. 

“You’re amazing.” Prompto rambles back. “I’ll take good care of you.” He means it. Noctis smiles dazedly. Prompto lurches down to kiss him, claiming both his tongue and cock at once. Noctis greedily accepts the kiss, and soon all their moans are lost in one another. Prompto knows he can’t last much longer but wants to last forever.

Noctis breaks first. He cries out into Prompto’s mouth, body sharply tensing for a moment, and then Prompto feels the warm rush of seed inside him, mixing with his own juices, infertile at the moment but still strangely _good_. Prompto rides Noctis right through it, milking him out, and chasing the same thing. Only a few seconds after, the slick feeling of Noctis’ cum pushes him over the edge—Prompto moans loud and comes hard around Noctis’ cock. 

He still bounces for a bit of it. He grinds himself against Noctis’ flagging dick, dragging his stained outer lips through their spilled mess. It’s easily one of the best orgasms he’s ever had—light and boneless, a bit weightless, even a faint ringing in his ears. He remains on Noctis afterwards as he’s coming gradually back down. 

When his vision refocuses, he finds Noctis looking up at him. Prompto pats his hip and murmurs, “Good boy.”

Noctis smiles dizzily. He looks pleased with himself and ready to pass out. He’s too good for that.

Pulling gingerly off, Prompto takes a seat beside his new omega. Noctis groans at the loss but otherwise doesn’t move, his spent cock drooping back towards his thighs. Prompto slips a hand under it and cups Noctis’ tight sac, giving it a little squeeze. Noctis squirms and whimpers. Prompto wants to proclaim a long night ahead, but he leaves the unspoken question there for Noctis to answer. Noctis looks at him through flushed cheeks and nearly all pupils. Noctis sleepily purrs, “I heard alphas were more virile... but I figured I could tire one out. Guess it’s not like fucking other omegas.”

Prompto grins. Noctis looks quite strong—given room to work, he probably could fuck Prompto hard enough to leave it at one round. But Prompto enjoyed riding him and knows they’ll use that position again.

He hopes they’ll try _every_ position. 

He leans down to kiss Noctis’ drenched cock, tasting both of them. He’s delighted when it twitches, stiffening a little under his touch. 

Noctis rumbles out, “Well, I guess we can’t be done already... you haven’t claimed me yet...” He tilts his head slightly to the side, but not _quite_ enough for an invitation. Prompto’s not sure if that means he’ll have to earn the right to mark Noctis, or if Noctis just wants it in the middle of sex—a deep bite at the height of pleasure. Either way, Prompto plans to oblige. 

He strokes his sweet prince until they’re ready for another round, both happy to celebrate again.


End file.
